


Better Suited

by keiliss



Series: Gifties: Christmas 2016 [8]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Coming of Age, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, know yourself, lessons to learn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 15:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9241796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiliss/pseuds/keiliss
Summary: Kenaz asked for:  Beleg/Haldir (or Beleg & Haldir gen); snowy woods; melancholy.Pre-slash, a little snow, a little melancholy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenaz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenaz/gifts).



> I offered to write Christmas gifts this year, which were due on Christmas Day but most grew way past their expected (under 700 word) length so one a day till Twelfth Night works better.
> 
> Okay, that didn't quite work as planned. Three left. Getting there :D

He knew the elf was there, or rather the wood knew and Haldir was listening to the wood. 

He had been walking quietly, more so than usual due to that first soft snowfall, concentrating so that he would recognise the false steps and begin to learn the soundless movements of a tracker. For that reason the birdsong had been loud in his ears, the whisper of leaves distinct, while off in the distance he could even hear the rumble of the river leaping down the small waterfall near the place where the wild garlic grew. 

Suddenly the voice of the trees grew stronger, as though news was being passed from branch to bough. The Shaman, who was Drúedain and disquieting and not to be trusted, often said the elves claimed that the trees spoke. Haldir had not believed it till now, but there was no other explanation for the way the sound travelled in a wave past him, away from the clearing he had been half heading towards, half determined to avoid.

Approaching the clearing on stealthy feet, lighter even than his sister Hareth who fancied herself able to move like a shadow, he peered between the slim silvered trunks of the out-of-place beech stand that marked the glade’s edge, and there he saw the elf. It was the same one Haldir had seen last time, tall and broad shouldered, with pale hair almost like the folk of Dor-lómin, and yet unlike, for it was the silver of moonlight to their sun-kissed locks. His clothing was grey, like mist at nightfall, and he bore a black bow over his shoulder that shone richly with the sheen that came from care and much polishing. Haldir was very interested in the bow, it was unlike any he had seen before, and his father said a warrior should be familiar with all manner of weapons, not just the ones that fitted his own hand.

“Soon there will be another snowfall and you are far from your father’s hall, son of Halmir,” the elf said without turning round. He had a strange voice, low and thrilling like the music the bards drew from the low cords on the harp when they wished to build tension. Haldir jumped at mention of his father’s name and for a moment his instinct was to flee this glade and this tall being. His mother said elves were just people like them, only longer lived and physically stronger, but even his father laughed at her fancies sometimes. Not often though, for Glindis was of Seer stock and it was unwise to forget this. 

Haldir straightened his back but kept ready to run, just in case. “How do you know who I am?” he asked, not coming any closer.

The elf turned, stepping to the side where he could have a good look at him. This gave Haldir an equal view of level eyes, a firm chin, a serious mouth. “I know many things,” the elf said. “If I told you that the trees gave me your name, would that suffice?”

Haldir shot an involuntary glance up at the nearest birch. The elf laughed, a sound like water rippling over stones. “Oh, not the birches, no. They keep to themselves. Not gossips by nature and even less talkative in the winter months. But the spruce, now there’s a one fond of the latest news.” He let it sink in a moment, timing it perfectly, to the point where Haldir accepted what he had said and looked around for a spruce tree. Then he smiled. “But of course, it might be that I was once briefly at your father’s hall with word from my king, where you and your siblings were named to me.”

“Oh – gossiping trees are much more interesting,” Haldir said before he had time to think if he wanted to make conversation. “Anyone can remember a face.”

“Indeed they can,” the elf agreed gravely. “Though I deserve some credit. It was a while ago as your kind reckon things and you have changed a good deal since then.”

“Was I beardless then? I am a man now and soon to be wed,” Haldir said with a bravado he did not feel.

“We find the stock your people place in facial hair as testament to your manliness interesting,” the elf said. His voice was very serious, but Haldir had a feeling that underneath the dour expression he was laughing. “And yes, you were beardless, but I can see where the child grew out into the man and would see it more clearly without the growth on your face.” He frowned then, and his expression became thoughtful. “Married though? That is an event of great joy, yet your eyes do not light at the thought of your chosen.”

Haldir found his feet had carried him into the glade, right up to where the big dead branch lying under its light dusting of snow made a near-perfect seat. “Oh, I haven’t met her yet,” he explained. “There’s to be a big festival and her family and some of their people from Dor-lómin will meet with us and my sister and I will marry their chief’s daughter and son. My father and uncle and the Shaman arranged it.” Because he thought it might be expected, he added, “Her name’s Glo--- Glor-something. I have to practice that. My uncle says she’s very tall and a year younger than me.”

“And is this marriage why you wander the woods alone on such a cold day?” the elf asked. He spoke with his head tilted slightly, paying attention as though the answer mattered to him.

Haldir bridled. There were concepts here he had never tried to put into words before, not even to his siblings who were the only ones he would consider trusting with his secrets. He was his father’s eldest son and had been told from before he was old enough to understand properly that he would one day be chieftain and had to learn young to keep his council.

“Rather I should ask why you wander these woods without leave, for they lie under my father’s rule,” he said, preferring rudeness over this talk of marriage.

The elf took no offense. He went to sit on the higher part of the fallen branch, and Haldir noticed it did not dip under his weight. He refused to be disconcerted by this, even though it was unnatural. “I am Beleg the Archer, and my King is lord of all Beleriand. Your father has oversight of Brethil by his gift, but these woods still form part of Elu Thingol’s realm. As for why I am here, despite the threat of further snow? I walk with the memories of lost friends, latterly fallen in conflict with foes from the North. These were woods we loved when we were younger and I hoped to find remembrance of them in earlier times.”

“I saw you here before,” Haldir said pointedly. “I was returning a lost pony.”

“Even so,” Beleg agreed. “And I heard you.” Amusement. “But this time is different.”

Haldir frowned at nothing, ignoring the uneasy, fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I saw your bow last time too and wondered about it,” he said finally. “I’ve not seen its like before and wondered about it.”

“My bow?” Beleg fetched it from his shoulder and held it out. “It is a bow like any other, just a little longer, a little tighter.”

Haldir took it and the unexpected weight almost made his knees buckle. He gritted his teeth, held it with both hands firmly, put his finger to the length of gut and pulled gently. Nothing happened. He tried again, strongly this time. 

“The bow knows it is mine,” Beleg told him. “I made it to fit my hands, my weight, my height, and strung it with words of power. No one else can wield it. This was not my intent but is how the matter is. “

“I know plenty of men who design their bows to suit themselves,” Haldir said, glaring at him. “That makes them no more nor less special, just better suited to some than others.”

“Oh, that too,” Beleg agreed. Haldir knew he was smiling even though his face was still, it sat there in his clear grey eyes. “But they do not have the skill of setting the right strengths and virtues into the wood, nor of weaving them into the gut.”

“I would like to know how to do that,” Haldir said, his fingers tracing the design along the edge of the smooth wood. Then realisation dawned. “But I cannot learn this, can I? Not elven magic.” 

Carefully he handed the bow back, and as Beleg took it their hands touched. It was like a bolt of fire running between them and spreading through him, carried on his blood. There had been times of late when he found himself beset by strange feelings while watching the hard, strong lines of some of his father’s men as they trained, the play of muscle under skin, the line of a throat, a laugh, and those times had been a shadow of this leaping flame. He felt warmth colour his face and looked down.

The elf gave no sign of having noticed. “I can show you certain techniques, but it is true that much lies in the gift of my people and not yours. The girl, it bothers you that she is taller than you?”

He had almost forgotten they were not meant to be talking about this. “My uncle says she has fine hips and a soft voice, both good for mothering?”

Beleg studied him. “This marriage. This will create an alliance between your houses, give your people more reasons to stand together during this present darkness?”

“I suppose?” Haldir said. “It is how things get done – men talk, one has a daughter whose moon seasons have begun, the other has a son... They are many and we are few, though we are strong, Haleth’s children. But it is better not to stand alone. “

“And so by taking a wife you add strength to your people? Then it is your duty and in time you will get to know her,” Beleg said peacefully. “Never forget, she will be as unsure of all this as you. It is important though that you understand yourself even while you do what is required of you.”

“What do you mean?” Haldir asked quietly. 

“You need to wed, to bind your people together, to have an heir to follow you in time. But if marriage were not your first choice, had there been a choice, it is as well to be honest with yourself about that. Life is short for your kind, too short to spend it in lying to yourself. This is a lesson it took me a long time to learn myself.” His smile was wry but there was no bitterness in it.

“I don’t understand,” Haldir said, although on some level he thought he really did, or would in time. He was finally about to sit on the branch but hesitated at the luminous gaze the elf had turned on him as though assessing him. Then Beleg rose, settling his bow more comfortably over his shoulder and Haldir felt his stomach tighten with the beginnings of regret that the time had been so short. 

Beleg inclined his head slightly. “Everything to its season,” he said. “Even melancholy. And every lesson as it falls due. Come.”

Haldir stared at him, bewildered. “Come where? I don’t understand.”

“You are young,” Beleg pointed out. “There is a lot you do not understand, but learning is an adventure. Enjoy it. For now, I thought we could start with something simple. If you wish to make a bow that is true to your needs, first we must find the right wood.”

“Start with...?”

The elf gave him an inscrutable look. “Of course. Self discovery is a slow unwinding of a journey and bow making seems as good a place as any to begin. After that, you follow the road.”

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: Red Lasbelin


End file.
